"Katsuki...baby, I'm on the toilet."

Like a stubborn guard dog, he just stands there — spiky blond strands peeking through the somewhat open door. "So did ya want sugar or honey in your cereal?"

"What I want," Your sigh bounces off the bathroom walls. "Is to pee in peace."

He blinks slowly, like you've picked the wrong dialogue option.

And yeah — he’s not moving until you pick one.

The correct one.

You scoff through playful annoyance. "I'll take brown sugar today."

"Got it." He replies and swiftly shuts the door on the way out.

Yet his footsteps don't fade away, and you’re only able to savour a moment before a knock echoes through.

"Yes?"

You’ve only been gone a few minutes. But he's acting like the world is ending, and now is the only time he has to confirm your breakfast requests.

He swears it's because 'everything has to be perfect' by the time you come out.

But you're more than aware that he just doesn’t like the prolonged silence — especially when it’s shaped like you not being there.

"You want our usual bowls or the new ones?" he asks.

It's adorable. The big and scary Lord Explosion Murderer God Dynamight reduced to hovering in the doorway like an NPC waiting for the next prompt. "The new ones, Kats."

With that, his shadow finally dips away — footsteps receding. But you don't stop giggling to yourself.

You come out to cereal poured, milk measured, spoon placed just so.

He pretends that it's nothing.

But somehow, everything is always perfect when you’re around.

it’s hungry, the way he’s got you— katsuki’s mouth all over you, teeth on your shoulder, breath hot against your throat, hands everywhere, greedy and starved. the sun isn’t even up but you can feel it— his need, your own. the room is cool, but every inch of you he touches burns.

you’re spread out beneath him, legs bracketed around his hips, one hand fisted in his wild morning hair. katsuki’s biting off his own sounds, gritting his teeth to keep quiet, rutting slow and desperate. you keep arching into him, biting your lip so hard you might bruise.

“god, baby, fuck.” he whispers, so close you can feel his voice more than hear it, his hips rocking against you, his fingers tangled with yours, your other hand clamped over your mouth so you don’t cry out for the whole house to hear.

he’s shaking, sweating, muttering filth into your ear— and you’re both about to come, strung out and so, so close. you can feel him tense, that ragged, trembling edge where he’s about to lose it, and he can feel you right there with him.

and then—

that tiny voice, floating from down the hall:

“… mama?”

you both freeze— katsuki’s eyes blown wide, panic and pure devastation in his face.

“he’ll go back to sleep,” he gasps, rutting his hips once more, desperate, “just a sec, babe, please, i’m so fucking close—”

but then the door handle rattles.

a second soft, and more insistent, “mama?” follows.

the two of you jump— a full-body, heart-stopping jolt. heads bonk together in your mad scramble for decency, you yelping and clutching your forehead, katsuki cursing under his breath, caught mid-thrust and now halfway off the bed.

he’s quick, but not quick enough to avoid smacking his forehead into yours a second time as you both try to untangle. he curses again, but then he softens instantly, cradling your face and kissing your forehead (right where it hurts) with a breathless, sheepish, “sorry, babe, shit— my skull’s a weapon.”

you snort, muffling laughter into your pillow, and hiss at the ache, eyes watering as you hear your little boy outside the door.

rock-paper-scissors is out the window; katsuki’s already grabbing for pyjama pants, grumbling the whole way, but his eyes are softer than you’ve ever seen. “don’t think this gets you off the hook. you owe me. i’m collecting during nap time.”

you stick your tongue out, shameless, watching his back as he pads to the door.

he opens it a crack, hair wild, eyes tired but warm. “what’s up, bud? s’early y’know? me ‘nd mama were sleepin’.”

kichiro blinks up at him, fox plush squished against his chest. “wanna make pancakes, papa. but i want mama.”

katsuki sighs, defeated cause he wanted mama too, and just shakes his head, reaching down to ruffle kichiro’s hair— his hair, copied and plastered onto his sons little head. “yeah, alright. mama's sleepin', gotta let her or she'll get cranky 'rember? gimme a sec, buddy.” the kid nods, shuffles off toward the kitchen, and katsuki throws one last look over his shoulder— full of promise, of bratty pettiness, but mostly affection. “nap time” he mouths, pointing at you with a mock glare.

you grin into the pillow, heart pounding, equal parts frustrated and full. because, really— this is everything you wanted. messy, chaotic, too much love to fit in one bed.